


the mercenary and the witch

by Engineer104



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Cliffhangers, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mercenaries, Mind the warnings, Undercover, Whump, rather dark, though none really portrayed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 15:05:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18263786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Engineer104/pseuds/Engineer104
Summary: Lance is in bad company, spying on Sendak's band of outlaws for hire and reporting on their movements to his friends. But his position within grows precarious when Sendak reaps the spoils of battle...





	the mercenary and the witch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rueitae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rueitae/gifts).



> oh boy first thing's first, my thanks to [Rue](https://rueitae.tumblr.com/) for beta reading and for the initial idea bouncing. this fic would not exist if not for her ~~and i hope it satisfies that particular fic-related itch~~
> 
> second of all...this is darker than my usual fare, so mind the warnings in the tags. the main thing is probably the "implied/referenced rape/non-con", which mostly exists as just a threat (no one really suffers that fate) and _nothing_ is portrayed (however if you read it and think "oh maybe this fic could be tagged better" feel free to shoot me a message on [tumblr](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/))
> 
> now without further ado, the fic!!

Sendak found no gold in the village, which naturally put him and the rest of the mercenary company in a foul mood. They flushed the rebels out and received no payment in return, so they vowed to take it in whatever way they could.

Lance would’ve been content with a hot dinner and a warm bed to spend the night, but his comrades had other plans. For every unsavory ex-soldier pillaging silos of grain and casks of ale were two outlaws turning millers and thatchers and tailors out of their homes; for every boy with an ax stuck in his hand and enlisted against his and his parents’ wishes was a girl getting leered at or felt up or worse.

And Lance bore witness to it all with nausea curling in his gut and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

But Thace couldn’t always be there to stop him from saying _something_.

“You’d take their only cow?” Lance demanded of Morvok, a weaker willed Galra ex-soldier - a deserter, he suspected from his shifty manner. He crossed his arms and stared down the mercenary as if he could force him to drop the lead rope through sheer force of will.

“I like a good cup of milk as much as the next baby,” Morvok retorted, though he didn’t quite meet Lance’s eyes. He tried to veer past him, but he blocked the barn doorway.

And, well, Lance couldn’t claim to be as broad in the shoulders as Shiro or as large in the gut as Hunk, but he still had half a head on Morvok. “Leave the cow alone, Morvok,” he said, voice low and threatening (he hoped).

But Morvok didn’t quail. Instead he finally raised his gaze, eyes narrowing, and said, “I don’t think I will, boy.”

“Why not? It’s not like you need a _cow_!” Lance flailed his arms; if threatening wouldn’t work, maybe reason would. “And how the hell are you going to care for a cow while we’re on the road?” He gestured towards the poor, too-docile-for-her-own-good creature, who only mooed listlessly. “She needs hay and needs to be milked early every morning, and what about when we’re on our next job and—”

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” Morvok interrupted with an ugly little smirk Lance wanted to punch off his ugly smug face. “Sendak’s thinking of making this charming little village our base of operations. The villagers have been oh so hospitable since we cleaned up their infestation, and they have that delightfully strategic tower that—wait, boy, where are you going?”

But Lance barely heard the tail end of his explanation. He spun on his heel and deserted Morvok at the barn, leaving him to his victim in favor of sprinting away to where he pitched his tent near the base of the tower - the one and only fortification upon a hill with a perfect vantage of the fertile wheat fields surrounding the farming village. His heart pounded wildly both in exertion and from a panic that grew more familiar with each “surprise” job that Sendak took.

_“We’re attacking that village,” Sendak announced at sunrise as the last straggling mercenaries emerged from their tents in various states of dress. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but one of its residents hired us to flush out an unsavory rebel presence.” He barked a humorless laugh, his empty eye socket glowing yellow behind the smoke filling it. “I told him we would be more than happy to free them of their menace.”_

_Lance_ _’s heart jumped into his throat, eyes widening as he exchanged an alarmed glance with Thace, the only halfway decent mercenary in the band. In his time with them, he’d yet to face any rebels against Zarkon’s conquest. What if he encountered someone he knew in battle? If any of his fellow mercenaries observed him hesitate, they wouldn’t think twice about serving up his traitorous head to Sendak on a stolen silver platter._

_And Sendak_ never _—_

_“Why’re ye on’y tellin’ us about this job now?” someone demanded. “We been marchin’ for weeks, and ye ain’t told us nuthin’!”_

_Others echoed his sentiments, and Sendak, with all the gravitas of a once-favored Galra general, let the grumblings die out before he replied,_ _“And inform the traitor in our midst so he can alert the Voltron Mercenaries? I think not…”_

_While a slow smirk curled Sendak_ _’s lips, while the deserters and criminals and scum raised their voices in angry, indignant shouts - of denial, of reproach, of suspicion, Lance swallowed before forcing himself to join in - but not without reaching for the two-way mirror hidden inside his coat._

_Its presence failed to reassure him._

Lance tore his tent flap open, barely pausing to activate the ward against eavesdroppers woven into the canvas - likely as not he’d have to pay for a mage to renew the charm soon before it faded. He fumbled for the gleaming silver mirror, breath fogging the surface as he held it up to his face and said, “Show me Pidge.”

His heart stuttered in his chest while the mirror’s surface blurred and shifted, his face and the gloomy interior of his depressingly impersonal tent fading to…well, he wasn’t really sure what. Something dark, he assessed with his brow furrowed. He squinted at the mirror, hoping to glean something else, turning it around in his hands before sighing, his heart sinking into his stomach and a dreadful ache in his chest.

Lance missed Pidge so much it hurt worse than any arrow to the arm or sword to the leg. He missed all his friends and family in the months since he enlisted in Sendak’s renegade mercenary band, with whom he felt more lonely than he ever had in his life despite his singular friend, but it was Pidge he longed to see, to speak to, to hold most of all.

Well, if there was one good thing that would come of Sendak discovering him, it would be an inevitable reunion with Pidge and the others after he fled.

Lance gave up on contacting Pidge for the moment; she probably left her mirror facing down on her desk or beside her bed, too distracted by an experiment or with a rebel intelligence report to remember to pick it up. It’d happened once before, and she contacted him barely an hour later herself, the mirror nestled safely in his hand flashing white before he brought it to his eye and felt the smile splitting his face the instant her gaze met his.

So this was nothing.

(Or so he tried to convince himself.)

Lance sat cross-legged on his bedroll, tapping his fingers against his knees. An agitated energy sat under his skin, so he almost tucked the mirror away. But he didn’t fancy holding himself back from stopping his repulsive comrades from harassing and stealing from villagers (lest they scrutinize him too much), and he needed to tell _someone_ about Sendak’s plans.

He raised the mirror again and muttered, “Show me Allura.”

His face faded, another far more beautiful and ethereal (he was man enough to admit as much) face taking its place.

Allura grinned, but when he couldn’t muster a grin of his own, hers faltered. She raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry, and Lance reached for the slate and chalk he hid under his bedroll.

The chalk screeched as he scribbled a simple message on the slate and raised it so Allura could read:

_Sendak suspects._

Allura’s eyes widened, her hand covering her mouth in an oddly dainty expression of horror. She reached for something out of his view, her face lowering, and after a few painstaking seconds she raised a scrap of parchment that read in her calligraphic scrawl, _Are you safe?_

Lance swiped his sleeve - dirtying it, sadly - over the slate before scribbling, _For now_. When Allura frowned in obvious concern, he managed a reassuring smile and a simple two-fingered salute. “I can make a quick escape if I need to,” he promised.

(Wait, could Allura even read lips?)

Before Allura could respond to his words - whether she understood it or not - Lance wiped the slate clean again and wrote, _Pidge?_

After he showed it to Allura, she smiled but shook her head. She again raised the same scrap of parchment with a new addition under the first message:

_With Matt._

And if Pidge was with her brother…well, Lance could rest easy knowing there was a simple explanation for her distraction (and that if anyone would keep her safe, it would be Matt). A relieved smile pushed at his lips, a tension easing from his shoulders, but with the most pressing information out of the way, he needed to report to Allura about the ambush on the rebel hideout.

Again he wiped the slate clean, but as he pressed the tip of the chalk to the board, the flap concealing the entrance to his tent flew open.

Lance’s heart leapt. He shoved slate and chalk back under his bedroll and covered the two-way mirror with his hand before turning to face the intruder.

His heart stopped in his chest when he recognized Haxus - Sendak’s loyal lieutenant, the only man that followed when Emperor Zarkon exiled him - towering over him. “Commander Sendak requests the presence of every man in the company,” he said, speech almost jarring in its formality.

Lance stiffened his spine, carefully composing his expression into something more apathetic. He nodded - the band, for all Haxus’ efforts, wasn’t disciplined enough for salutes - and said, “I’ll follow you out.”

Haxus appraised him for a heartbeat - did he suspect Lance of the treachery? - before saying, “Hurry it up, boy. The commander doesn’t have all day.”

The instant he turned his back, Lance rolled his eyes - being called “boy” all the time just because he was the newest and youngest recruit (at least before they kidnapped a handful of village boys) grated on him - and, after carefully tucking the two-way mirror back into his coat, trailed after Haxus.

The mercenaries milled about in the courtyard in front of the fortified tower, an armed mob just shy of unruly. Villagers mingled with them - some obviously terrified judging from their hunched shoulders and shifting eyes, others looking more curious - while they grumbled about being called away from more important tasks like looting.

Haxus cut a path through the rabble to the base of the tower, but Lance lingered at the edge of the crowd. His foot tapped impatiently - he needed to return to his tent and pass his message along to Allura - and a scowl twisted his lips. Even Thace’s arrival didn’t set him at ease, so he only greeted him with a sullen nod.

“I heard you tried to stop Morvok from stealing a cow,” Thace observed.

That only darkened Lance’s mood. He crossed his arms, glowering at the ground; he did _not_ need his warnings now. “It didn’t work,” he muttered.

“I know, but…” Thace trailed off with a sigh, but Lance knew what he was thinking anyway.

_“You can’t stop this lot from having their fun, and getting in their way will only anger them and draw their attention to you.”_

Thace was spared the trouble of saying anything else by Sendak’s arrival.

It was a small blessing: Sendak didn’t leave them to wait long in the humid heat, sweating in their boots and armor. But the genuine and triumphant grin - broader than the one he donned when their ambush succeeded in driving away the rebels - on his face, with his teeth flashing in the waning light and his smoking eye glowing, instantly set Lance on edge.

Good news for Sendak was not good news for him.

“Today was an even greater victory than I even imagined!” Sendak announced, tone full of barely repressed glee.

“You’d think Zarkon just declared him the heir to his empire,” Lance mumbled under his breath.

(When Thace flashed him a grudging smile, he considered it a personal triumph.)

“We drove the rebels away from a poor, defenseless village they victimized for so long—”

Lance rolled his eyes, the irony making him sick to his stomach again.

“—and we reaped the spoils they left behind!”

“Of course…” he scoffed, almost too loud.

But the mercenaries, riled up by Sendak’s speech, drowned his voice out with their own cheering and jeering.

The rabble only grew louder at the stirring of some commotion at the front of the crowd, at two mercenaries dragging a slumped figure between them, so Sendak fought to make himself heard:

“And among the fleeing rebels I found the most precious of the battle’s spoils: the rebel witch herself!”

Lance couldn’t deny his curiosity as the mob cursed at whomever was brought before them. His heart pounded relentlessly against his ribs, tension filling him as he stood on his toes to peer over the heads of those standing between him and the tower.

His eyes found Pidge.

A bound, gagged, barely standing yet _seething_ Pidge, glaring at her captors with unfocused eyes.

Lance didn’t know he’d stepped forward - he just knew the blood rushing through his veins filled him with a furious energy - until Thace’s fingers clamped around his arm and dragged him backwards. “Let me _go_ ,” he hissed after failing to wrench himself out of his grip.

“No.” Thace grabbed his shoulders and shook him, stepping between him and the mob - between him and _Pidge_.

 _Pidge, Pidge, Pidge_.

Just moments ago he thought she was _safe_ , but now he found her here, amid a crowd of deadly, angry, _dreadful_ mercenaries whose commander was once a notorious Galra general that captured the Castle of Lions itself.

But Pidge…oh, it was _Pidge_ that thwarted and expelled Sendak, and the bastard _remembered_.

Lance wanted to kill him, and Thace stood in his way. He glared up at him, heedless of the noise and witnesses around them. He didn’t care; he could take them all if they tried to stop him too. “Let. Me. Go.”

“So you can do something stupid?” He shook his head. “Return to your tent, Lance.”

Lance couldn’t. Tension filled his muscles, turning them into taut springs, and all he saw was Pidge, her fear obvious behind her defiance as Sendak _gloated_. But his rage faded ever so slightly, giving away to a gut-wrenching fear of his own. “I need to—”

Thace flung an arm around his chest and shoved him away, tugging him closer and speaking directly into his ear, “Sendak is waiting for the instant you - any one of us - steps out of line. If he has any reason to suspect treachery, justified or not, he won’t hesitate to kill you - and _her_.”

Lance swallowed the sudden lump lodged in his throat, blinking angry tears from his eyes. “Then what the hell am I supposed to do?” he demanded, gesturing towards the tower and the crowd milled around it. “Thace, she’s—”

He broke off; he couldn’t really trust Thace, friendly and decent or not.

“She means something to you?” Thace wondered, as if the answer wasn’t obvious.

Lance nodded, too choked up to speak. And what _could_ he say? Would he really pour out his heart, confess that Pidge was his lover - that he asked her to marry him before Allura sent him to infiltrate Sendak’s mercenaries - to a near-stranger whose intentions he still couldn’t glean?

“Then I will listen for her fate,” Thace promised, “but _you_ will return to your tent.”

His tone brooked no argument - it reminded him of Coran when he forced Allura or Shiro to rest before they overworked themselves - but Lance still found the wherewithal to protest, “But I need to see—”

“Think of what will become of her should Sendak discover the true purpose of that mirror you keep hidden on your person.”

Lance stiffened, almost so startled it superseded his anger. “How do you—”

“I know how to spot magical objects,” Thace said simply, “and you’re not nearly as careful as you think you are. That ward on your tent is nearly dead, by the way.”

“You won’t tell—”

“Of course not,” he said, frowning almost grumpily. “You’re not the only one with secrets.”

Lance glared at him - _Fine, keep your secrets._ \- but forced his limbs to unwind and relax. “Tell me as soon as you know something. I _need_ to know.” For once he didn’t care to modulate his tone, didn’t care he sounded like he was begging.

“I will,” Thace promised. “Now go.”

And finally Lance turned towards his tent, each step taken - each step that carried him further away from Pidge - more difficult than the last.

* * *

Thace didn’t keep him waiting for long - and definitely not long enough for him to scramble for his two-way mirror and try and _fail_ again to contact Pidge. And, oh, _that_ was why he got nothing, he realized with an awful twisting in his gut.

He didn’t know she was in the very village the mercenaries ambushed - didn’t encounter her in the battle - didn’t know _anything_. How could he be so useless to her when she needed him?

He buried his face in his hands and mumbled, “Pidge…I’m so sorry. I’ll get you out.”

“You’ll do no such thing.”

Lance bit back his automatic denial, instead raising his eyes to look up at Thace. “What did you find?”

Thace crossed his arms and sighed. “She’ll be under constant rotating guard inside the tower,” he said. “Sendak doesn’t intend to slaughter her like he did with all the other captured rebels; he wants to cart her off to Daibazaal and present her to Emperor Zarkon. But…” He glanced at Lance, his brow furrowing, and added, “I doubt you’ll like this next part any better.”

He jumped to his feet, unable to hide his urgency, and said, “Tell me anyway.”

“Sendak won’t be stopping his men from…harassing her,” Thace said. “His only condition for her arrival to Daibazaal is that she be alive.”

Lance barely heard the last of his words, the blood rushing past his ears drowning them out. He didn’t know if he was more furious or horrified, his heart somehow racing and tightening in fear at once.

He’d spent the better part of a year with this rabble of mercenaries; he knew what they were capable of without the slightest provocation. Pidge could be beaten within an inch of her life or suffer the same fate as any defenseless village girl and Sendak wouldn’t lift a finger to stop it.

And _Lance_ would be powerless to stop it.

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try anyway.

Escape would be their best bet, but he doubted he’d be able to manage it with Pidge locked up in a tower cell. But just the thought of waiting till they marched again in two days’ time filled him with nausea.

Lance needed to see her, just hold her and hear her voice again, make sure she was as all right as she could be trapped here, _promise_ he was already planning a way out for her - a way out for both of them. He needed—

He turned to Thace and said, “I want guard duty.”

“No.”

“For the ancients’ sake, quit telling me _no_!” Lance roared, throwing his fists into the air. “I don’t even _need_ your permission!”

“No, you don’t,” Thace agreed, to his surprise, “but you do need my advice.”

“What the hell do _you_ know?” Lance sneered, aware but uncaring that he sounded petulant. He paced the tiny space in his tent, his head brushing the canvas ceiling, and seethed. “She’s my _betrothed_ , Thace! I can’t just _not_ do anything!” He waved in the general direction of the tower (probably) and glared.

“I know more than you think,” Thace said, “and for these _ancients_ _’_ sake, keep your voice down. Your ward—”

“—is fading, I _know_.” His foot tapped, and tapped, and tapped. “Where’s your compassion?” he demanded. “And what good are we if all we do is _watch and wait_?”

 _“Watch and wait,”_ Shiro advised Lance before he set out.

 _“The Blade teaches us to watch and wait,”_ Keith said in lieu of a proper goodbye.

Well, how was Lance supposed to _watch and wait_ with Pidge’s safety at stake?

“I’m going to see her”—Lance met Thace’s eyes in a useless battle of wills—”with or without your help.”

Thace rubbed his face and sighed. “You and your friends and your thoughtless ways will be either the death or salvation of us all.” But, to his surprise and relief, he clapped Lance on the shoulder and swore, “You will have my help.”

“Thank you,” Lance said with a slight smile. “I’ll be careful.”

“See that you do,” Thace said. “I fear this won’t be so easy as we hope.”

* * *

With Pidge so close yet so far from his reach, Lance slept worse than he did in his first nights marching with the company, when fear kept him on edge lest Sendak discover him and have someone slit his throat in his sleep. In the rare stretches of slumber he snatched, nightmares plagued him - of Sendak strangling Pidge, her pale face turning blue while he watched, helpless with quicksand sucking at his legs and dragging him down till dirt filled his mouth and he startled awake gasping and fumbling for his empty water skin in the darkness of his tent.

It took all his self-control not to bolt out and sprint for the tower.

He didn’t bother trying to sleep again and instead slipped on his coat and stumbled out of his tent with the water skin in hand. After a trip to the village well, he parched his thirst, but he couldn’t so easily dismiss his nightmare.

The tower stood as a velvety black silhouette at the top of the hill, a silent watcher in the night, with a torch half-hidden by a crenelation burning atop it. Sendak likely stationed someone he trusted - and with sharp eyes - up there to watch for anyone taking advantage of the darkness to sneak around…

The doors to the only tavern - which, in a village so small, should’ve locked up soon after sunset - burst open, a few drunken mercenaries slipping over their own shadows. One fell, landing on his hands and knees, while his fellows doubled over and guffawed, the sound disturbing the otherwise quiet evening - the only peace the village got with this rabble in residence.

“Stupid girl,” the one on the ground grumbled. He stood, rubbing his chin, and added, “She ain’t so pretty she can play hard to get.”

One of his companions laughed even louder. “You aren’t so pretty she’ll play hard to get.”

The first one raised his fist, swinging it with a wordless bellow, but he was so drunk he missed and stumbled while his friends laughed at his expense.

Lance rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help a twinge of sympathy - he wasn’t so naive he couldn’t admit that he suffered many a stinging rejection before he met Pidge, although with the company this job forced him to keep, the mercenary probably deserved the red, hand-shaped mark on his jaw.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” one of the others said, kind enough to help the first climb to his feet. “That one mightn’t have wanted you, but I know there’s another girl in the village who can’t say no.”

The mercenaries’ shared laughter shifted to something dark and unpleasant that filled Lance with an ugly knot of dread. He watched them tread through the village, past dark shops with windows broken after days of looting, past cottages with shutters torn off their hinges and the stables empty of horses - up the hill and towards the tower.

Any sympathy Lance had vanished, all wisdom Thace ever spoke to him forgotten in the heat of a fresh wave of anger. His heart pounded as he ran to overtake the mercenaries - his own, distasteful _comrades_ \- and protested, “Didn’t you hear? Sendak said only the posted guards can ‘visit’ with his…captive.”

“No, he didn’t,” one immediately retorted.

Lance gritted his teeth to bite back his frustration, trying to rethink…what would Pidge do? “Then don’t you think you should get some sleep while you can?” He shrugged, feigning a nonchalance he hadn’t felt since the instant he saw her trussed up and gagged and dragged before a mob. “We’re marching again in a day, and I’m sure you’d rather rest in a bed you stole than the hard ground.” He smiled in what he hoped was a disarming manner, but when the men still looked doubtful, he extended his arms over his head and faked a yawn. “I, for one, know what I’d rather do tonight than bother some rebel prisoner.”

“That’s a stupid idea,” one said while the others nodded in agreement. “I want my fun now while I can take it, before Sendak marches us all to death on the way to some other battle.”

They roughly pushed past Lance, but he grabbed one by the arm and wrenched him back before hissing, “What _fun_ is an unwilling victim that’ll sooner scratch your eyes out till you have as many as Sendak than submit?” He glowered, staring him in the eye, his gaze and fingernails digging into his flesh promising bloody murder.

“What’re you yapping about, boy?” one of the others said. “The ones that fight are the most—”

“Shut your trap,” the one Lance grabbed spat, his gaze steadier and steelier than he would’ve expected of a drunken lout. “You…” His finger jabbed him in the chest. “You’re the one who tried to stop Morvok from taking a bloody cow.”

Lance swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. He had a reputation, did he?

“Always standing to the side, never eager to take any spoils,” the mercenary sneered. “You’re even too good to take weapons off corpses, as if dead men need them where they’re going.”

“W-why would I steal weapons off corpses?” Lance wondered, his eyes wide…as if he could profess innocence. His comrades apparently were more observant than he gave them credit for. “I take good care of my bow and sword; I don’t need anything else.”

“What’re you, a lord’s spoiled brat?” he scoffed. He tugged his arm from Lance’s grip. “We can’t afford to let good weapons go to waste, boy, just like we like to have our fun before we die fighting someone else’s wars. But fine”—he rolled his eyes and trudged away, back in the direction they came—”I’ve lost my taste for rebel flesh thanks to your preaching.”

Lance watched the rest of them follow, not one throwing him a dirty look as they passed. He met their eyes unflinchingly, his tension refusing to abate, and even when the shadows swallowed them he felt no relief.

If one faithless mercenary made note of his post-battle habits, then all of them very well could, and if the news traveled to Sendak…

It was just one more reason for him to suspect Lance of treachery.

He needed to get Pidge out before he did anything stupid that compromised them both.

***

“You’re on duty guarding the witch until dawn.”

Blue’s brush nearly slipped from his hands when Haxus addressed Lance while he fought a yawn. His eyes shot open in surprise, but he composed his expression into something he hoped was nonchalant - rather than the stupid, triumphant grin that pushed at his lips - as he turned to face Sendak’s lieutenant. “Until we march?”

“Until we march,” Haxus confirmed. His eyes narrowed, sharp enough on him that a shiver traveled up his spine, but he didn’t let it bother him.

He was finally getting a chance to approach Pidge! The thought filled him with the energy that evaded him all day thanks to a sleepless night, and when Haxus’ footsteps faded behind him, he resumed brushing Blue’s coat to a sheen.

“Hear that, girl?” he said to his mare, allowing himself a smile. “I’ll see her tonight, and soon…” He rubbed Blue’s snout down to her soft, velvety nose. “Be ready, all right? We’ll be on our way back to the Castle before you know it.”

* * *

_Time is short,_ Lance scribbled on his slate before showing it to Allura on the surface of his two-way mirror. He wiped the dust away and wrote his new message,  _Is Matt safe?_

Allura’s eyes widened, and she scrawled on her parchment, _Why do you ask?_

 _Sendak captured Pidge,_ Lance replied simply. _We leave soon._ He paused, assessing Allura for her reaction. When her eyes slipped shut and she nodded in agreement - or in simple acceptance, because Lance refused to be convinced to stay - he cleaned his slate and wrote, _Watch for us._

 _Explain when you return,_ Allura ordered, gaze sharp. But her expression softened, and she added underneath, _Be careful._

Lance flashed her a reassuring smile and a two-fingered salute and said, “When aren’t I?”

(He sincerely hoped Allura couldn’t read lips because he did _not_ want to know the answer to that question.)

Allura rolled her eyes, which Lance took as his cue to end the communication. He returned the mirror to his pocket and stood, his heart stuttering in his chest.

It was time for his guard shift.

The ward Lance used to shield his tent from eavesdroppers was little more than a pebble with a rune carved into it that he set just within the entrance. He picked it up, his heart pounding with excitement (and heavy with dread), and ran his thumb over the rune.

He knew it was losing its effectiveness…but it had to do if he wanted to seize this chance to speak with Pidge.

Lance pocketed the ward with his two-way mirror before belting on his sword and pushing his way out of his tent.

The trek up the hill to the tower dragged on as he forced himself to modulate his pace, to not seem too eager. Too many close encounters filled him with a wariness he hadn’t felt since his first month with the company, and Thace’s persistent warnings echoed through his head.

The tower door opened with a creaking of rusted hinges, and Lance entered a round room with a staircase spiraling up along the wall through the ceiling. A single mercenary leaned against the wall outside a second heavy metal door with bars over a window, cleaning under his fingernails with a knife.

“You the next one?” he asked when he glanced up at the sound of Lance’s footsteps.

“That’s right,” Lance said. He paused before him and rested a hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Who’s your partner?” the guard wondered, his eyes slipping past him.

His eyes widened, fingers tightening around his sword. “My…partner?”

The guard nodded, angling his head towards the cell door right as a pained yelp drifted from within.

Lance stiffened, jaw setting and blood running hot. “Where’s _your_ partner?” he asked the guard.

He grinned nastily and said, “Visiting. I already got my turn with the witch.”

Lance forced his fingers to uncurl, but he couldn’t bring himself to relax. “Well, tell him it’s my turn now,” he said as levelly as he could.

(He doubted he succeeded.)

“Not till your partner gets here,” the guard said. “Commander Sendak’s orders.”

Lance rounded on him and grabbed his collar. “Listen, you—”

“No need to be so impatient, boy!” someone announced behind him. “I’m here now! I’ll even let you visit her first since you’re in such a hurry to have her to yourself.”

Lance’s eyes pinched shut as he silently begged for the patience he really did _not_ have. “Morvok is my partner.” He let go of the man, resisting the urge to shove him away, and turned to the short deserter, eyes narrowing. “How’s your cow?”

“Taken care of,” Morvok promised with a smirk. “I milked her this morning and even offered to share some with my comrades; you might’ve taken a cup if you bothered to break your fast with us.”

Morvok’s oddly formal diction grated on Lance’s nerves, reminding him irresistibly of Sendak’s; it gave away their origins as high-ranking Galra soldiers…and rubbed his nose in what they had in common.

Lance wouldn’t put it past Morvok to spy on him and report back to Sendak.

The guard knocking on the cell door burst the tense bubble. “Shift’s over,” he called inside. “Hope you left something for the next two.”

The door swung open and closed in quick succession, the second guard emerging rubbing his nose and scowling. “The witch _bit_ me!” he complained.

Lance smirked, pride filling him. “Guess it wasn’t a nice visit.”

“Oh, it was.” The mercenary smiled, his gaze falling to his balled fist. “I made sure she paid for it.”

His smirk froze in place, though his racing heart urged him to launch himself at the mercenary. “I’ll charge her extra just for you,” he said through gritted teeth.

The mercenary grinned and clapped Lance on the shoulder on his way out, but his partner leveled him with a suspicious gaze before following.

The tower door shut, leaving him and Morvok in a shadowed, torch-lit room…with Pidge so close he could almost touch her.

Lance grabbed the latch to open the cell door and smiled at Morvok. “And now it’s my turn to slap her around,” he said, the words tasting foul as they slipped from him.

Morvok laughed. “You surprise me, boy,” he said. “Just a few days ago you tried to stop me from stealing a cow. A _cow_!”

Bile rose in his throat as he said, “A cow is worth more to me than a rebel witch.”

Morvok’s awful cackle followed him into the cell as he slipped inside, guilt heavy in his gut. He set the ward with its rune at the base of the door before at last seeking what he came for.

She slowly, gingerly rose from where she crouched on the stone floor, the chains binding her to the wall rattling and her eyes wide in disbelief. “L—” she cut herself off with a startled squeak before covering her mouth with a hand and bursting into muffled, heart-wrenching sobs.

His own heart fractured as he watched her fold in on herself, the defiance that had been on display when she was paraded before the band gone. “ _Pidge,_ ” Lance muttered while a lump stuck in his throat. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, her warmth, her heartbeat, the uneven rise and fall of her chest reassuring despite her broken, silent cries.

Lance buried his face in her neck and ran his fingers through her hair, unbothered by her unwashed state. Holding her - comforting her however he could - was more important than her hygiene.

Pidge pressed her face into his chest, her hands tucked against him while she shook. “Y-y-you’re _here_ ,” she managed between sobs. “I-I-I thought…the _worst_ … _L-Lance_ …”

“I-I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” he muttered into her ear, squeezing her tighter as if that would erase all that befell her since her capture. “I’m sorry; I’m so sorry, Pidge.”

“Y-y-you—should y-you be here?” Pidge mumbled, her voice muted in his coat.

“It’s my turn to guard you,” Lance told her with a bitter laugh, “and nothing could keep me away.” He pulled away from her just enough to cup her face in both hands, wiping away a few tears with his thumbs and meeting brown eyes sharp despite their unhappy shine. “I would’ve been beside you the instant I saw you if I could’ve.”

 _Damn Thace,_ he thought, an angry heat filling him at the sight of yellow bruises under her eyes, marring her pale skin, at the cuts and scrapes visible through the tears in her ragged, dirty clothes. _Damn Sendak most of all._

“I-I know,” Pidge said, a slight smile on her lips, “and I wondered - I _hoped_ \- if you would, but y-you shouldn’t—”

“I warded the cell,” Lance promised. “I-I’ll tell Morvok I gagged you and I d-didn’t feel like mocking if he asks.”

(Even the explanation stuck a knot of dread in his stomach, as if just pretending to beat his _betrothed_ was something he could relish.)

Pidge’s brow furrowed, nose wrinkling in a way that might’ve been sweet in any other situation. “Lance—”

“I had to see you,” he insisted, “and I’m going to free you. We’ll _both_ escape these degenerates once we’re on the march.” He rested his forehead against hers, their noses brushing and her breath warming his face. “We’ll find your brother and return to the Castle, then we’ll marry because if you’re ready I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Pidge smiled very slightly, her hand sliding up his chest and neck, her touch soft and sending a shiver down his spine. “I was ready to marry you before you even asked me, y-you fool.”

“Fool” wasn’t an insult coming from her, so a grin pushed at Lance’s lips as he retorted, “You would trust a fool with your heart?”

Her palm rested against his cheek. “Only if that fool is you.”

Lance kissed her, her lips soft and warm beneath his. Her breath stuttered, his own heartbeat erratic, and her arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer.

Until she broke away with a hiss, eyes pinched shut and lip curled.

“Pidge?” he said when she bent over, clutching at her abdomen. His hand fell on her shoulder, worry making him nauseous. “Are you—”

“I-I think I have a few broken ribs,” she explained breathlessly, and when she glanced up at him, her eyes glistened with pain.

Lance knelt on the ground beside her, gingerly grasping her arms as fury again threatened to overrule him. He contented himself with a scowl and demanded, “Who—”

“They take turns,” Pidge explained. “It’s worse if I fight them.”

“You bit the last one’s nose,” Lance remarked, frowning with his heart heavy. “Pidge—”

“I-I’ll be fine, Lance,” she promised, her hand finding and covering his. “I trust you t-to get us out of this.”

“I will,” he swore, “and I won’t let anyone else touch you again.”

He sealed his words with another, softer kiss, her fingers tangling in his hair until he pulled away just enough that they still breathed the same air. “I love you, Pidge,” he whispered, because he needed her to hear, to _understand_ it.

She smiled, but there was something shaky about it. “I know.” She cupped his jaw, her thumb wiping away a single tear he hadn’t noticed he shed. “I love you too.”

Pidge dragged his face down to hers until their lips touched again, the taste of hers bittersweet despite the salt of her tears. His heart pounded, an awful dread twisting his gut into knots before he parted from her, breathless and with his chest aching.

He fervently, _desperately_ hoped that kiss wouldn’t be their last.

* * *

When Morvok declined his “turn” with Pidge, Lance breathed the easiest he had since Sendak dragged her before a crowd.

“What do I want with a witch?” he said. “She could curse me with a look.”

Lance didn’t bother arguing with him and instead suffered through the rest of the shift with Pidge miserable and alone only on the other side of a cell door and refusing to be baited by Morvok’s needling.

“I bet she didn’t mind you so much,” Morvok said, flashing him an unpleasant smirk. “At least you’re prettier than her other visitors.”

Lance’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. “Oh thanks,” he said through lips pressed together. “I’m definitely prettier than you.”

Morvok only chuckled. “You must’ve been gentle too,” he observed. “I didn’t hear a single peep from her when you—”

Lance chucked the ward at Morvok, but he was faster than he looked, ducking his head before it connected with his forehead. It struck the wall behind him with a _clack_ and fell to the floor for him to pick up and examine with a thoughtful tilt to his mouth.

“Curious,” Morvok said, raising an eyebrow. “You carry a rock around in your pocket?”

Lance’s heart jumped, the rage that had filled him so quickly at his mocking fading fast. “It’s just a good luck charm,” he lied. “My sister gave it to me, so if I could have it back”—he held his hand out—”I’d appreciate it.”

Morvok smiled, and for once it almost looked friendly. He set the ward on his open palm and agreed, “Wouldn’t want to part a man from his beloved family heirloom.”

Morvok endured the rest of their shared shift in silence, but Lance thought he might’ve preferred his mocking.

* * *

Lance began to realize how much he hated standing still when the company marched at dawn. Perhaps Pidge’s presence and the danger to her hanging over his head made it worse, but when they set away from the village - away from the looted, beleaguered farmers and simple craftsmen - the tense thread threatening to snap loosened.

The morning was balmy even before the sun warmed the earth, the mercenaries lethargic after several days of rest, but Sendak mercilessly pressed them forward. And, despite his certainty there was a traitor in the band’s midst, he didn’t keep their destination a secret.

Daibazaal, the heart of Zarkon’s empire.

But Lance and Pidge would be gone long before they reached Daibazaal’s border.

Sendak called for the first halt at noon. Supply wagons rolled to a stop, mercenaries on foot collapsing where they stood while those mounted - some on stolen horses - had the wherewithal to slide off first.

Lance slipped off Blue, patting her rump before stretching, wincing at the stiffness in his spine. He appraised his surroundings - the Continental Road that traversed the entire continent north to south - and looked towards Sendak, standing beside his giant black stallion while listening to a report from Haxus.

He couldn’t spot Pidge, but he knew she rode with Haxus, slung across the back of his horse like another saddlebag with her wrists and ankles bound.

The sight - the angry heat that filled him if he so much as thought about it - made him more eager to find an opening for them to escape. Doubtless it would look strange to anyone they passed too, especially if Sendak and Haxus didn’t bother to hide her, but no one - and certainly not in the lawless and war-torn territory that lay between Daibazaal and what little was left of Altea - would challenge a band of armed outlaws.

“Look sharp,” Thace told Lance, jerking him from his dismal thoughts. “Haxus is walking towards us.”

Lance straightened, heart skipping a beat when his gaze landed on Sendak’s lieutenant stalking in their direction. His mouth dried as Haxus came to a stop before them, his face impassive…except for the slightest telling curve to his lips.

“Commander Sendak requests your presence, boy,” Haxus said.

Lance swallowed, unable to resist glancing at Thace. “H-hope I’m not in trouble,” he managed to halfheartedly joke. “That would make the rest of this long march awfully awkward.”

“Let’s not dawdle,” Haxus said, his lips pressing together in obvious displeasure.

Lance tried smiling. “I’d never keep the commander waiting, sir,” he said.

Haxus looked less than impressed with that, but he paced away, and Lance followed with his heart in his throat and Thace’s concerned eyes on him.

They wove their way between resting and laughing and whining and eating mercenaries, most of them in high spirits despite the difficulty of the road. But Lance paid them no mind, body too tense and thoughts too chaotic to bother.

Sendak _couldn_ _’t_ know he was the traitor…but he probably did.

Thace was right; he’d been less than careful, especially of late. But Lance didn’t care anymore; so long as he could get Pidge somewhere safe, Sendak could do whatever he wanted to him.

When he stood before Sendak, Lance’s heart pounded so loud he was sure the crows roosting in the nearby trees could hear it. But he held his chin up, and before either he or Haxus spoke, he said, “You know, I don’t let just anyone summon me.”

Sendak’s lip twitched, his brow furrowing in more obvious displeasure when he sarcastically retorted, “Then I’m so grateful you honored us with your presence, _boy_.”

Lance smirked, finding some reassurance in the weight of the sword at his side. “Well, come now,” he said. “I don’t have all day.”

“No,” Sendak agreed with a slow smirk - one that sent an awful chill up his spine - of his own, “you don’t.”

“Oh?” He shifted his feet, leaning forward slightly. “What’s—”

“Haxus, search his pockets,” Sendak ordered.

Lance froze, eyes widening, but as Haxus approached him he shrugged and said, “Fine. All you’ll find is my shaving mirror and a good luck charm.”

He stood stiffly, leaning away as best as he could, while Haxus pawed through his coat pockets and extracted the two-way mirror and the ward. “This is all I found, Commander.”

Sendak raised the eyebrow over his smoke-filled socket. “Is there anything you can tell me about them, Lieutenant?”

Haxus examined the rune on the pebble. “This is a ward against eavesdroppers,” he reported, his fingernail tapping against it. “It matches the description of the one Morvok told us about.”

_Of course._

“And the mirror?”

“The back has modified distance and communication runes scratched into it,” Haxus said, turning it to show Sendak. “It matches—”

“—the one we found on the rebel witch,” Sendak pronounced, his lips twisting into a snarl as he rounded on Lance.

He took a shameful step backwards but refused to quail anymore. He slid his sword from its sheath and held it before him, tip pointed at Sendak’s chest.

Sendak raised his arms…and _smiled_. “I think this, Lieutenant Haxus, is all the evidence we need to prove him the traitor,” he said, “but what should we do with him?”

“Deliver him to Emperor Zarkon with his rebel witch partner,” Haxus suggested with a sneer. “He will decide their fate.”

“Tempting,” Sendak said, “but he has fought and bled for my company.” The glow behind his smoking eye intensified, almost as if it pinned Lance to his spot. “I will give you a chance to prove your loyalty to me, boy.”

“Why the hell do you think I’d be loyal to you?” Lance spat. His blood rushed past his ears, almost deafening in its intensity, his surroundings fading away and focus narrowing to a point.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sendak beckoned someone behind him forward with a twitch of his hand. “Unless Morvok is mistaken, you and my captive are quite…close, perhaps even…betrothed.”

And in an awful echo of that awful instant, two mercenaries carted Pidge towards them. They threw her at Lance’s and Sendak’s feet with enough force she curled in on herself with a whimper.

“Pidge!” Lance crouched beside her, heart in his throat as he cupped her face and turned her towards him.

Tears streaked down her dirty face, and she sported a new bruise under her ear and a bump on her temple only half-hidden by her tangled, matted hair. He gritted his teeth against that familiar fury when she failed to speak around the gag forced past her teeth.

Lance reached behind her head to untie it, but the tip of a sword in his face stopped him. He raised his eyes to meet Sendak’s, scowling.

“You further incriminate yourself,” Sendak observed.

“What do you want?” Lance demanded. “Just tie me up with her and have done with it!”

“Not quite.” Sendak lowered his sword till the blade rested against Pidge’s neck. “You see, I hold your beloved’s life in my hands, so whatever you decide can settle her fate.”

“Then tell me what you want!” he shouted.

“All I ask is you perform one task,” Sendak said. “Do that, and no other man in this discordant rabble of mercenaries - not even me - will lay an unkind hand on her between here and Daibazaal.”

Lance swallowed, his breath short and body rigid. He met Pidge’s frantic, wide-eyed gaze, watched her furiously shake her head, her small hands grasping his. “Y-you won’t kill her,” he said. “You need her alive for Zarkon.”

“Correct,” Sendak confirmed, “but there are worse fates than death.”

Lance stared at him, as if he could spot any sign of untruth in his words through a look alone. And really, what reason did he have to trust any promise Sendak made him?

But he looked back to Pidge, his heart heavy with regret. He pressed his lips to her forehead, his eyes slipping shut as he tried to conjure some instant of peace for them. Her fingers clutched at the front of his shirt, her body trembling slightly against his.

She still shook her head when he pulled away, but Lance stood and asked in as steady and steely a voice as he could manage, “What do you want me to do?”

Sendak smiled, baring teeth that glistened like fangs. “You will ride beside me for the remainder of the journey, but you can start the task I have for you now.” He tossed something long and thin at Lance’s feet:

A rough, thick leather strap with glittering shards of glass embedded in the fabric - a switch, nasty and cutting but still impeccably clean.

Horror - horror and a terrible, heart-stopping foreboding - gripped Lance. “You—”

“You will torment her yourself,” Sendak pronounced, “and I will watch her suffer a fraction of the betrayal I did at Zarkon’s hands.”

**Author's Note:**

> two-way mirror shamelessly ripped from Harry Potter. "Voltron but mercenaries AU" shamelessly inspired by Fire Emblem: Path of Radiance
> 
> i dunno why, but lately i've been in the mood to whump Pidge
> 
> please leave a comment on your way out!! just don't ask for a sequel <_<


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